The Dark Lord
by elisai-3
Summary: Locked away in Nurmengard for longer than most men care to remember, when Gellert Grindelwald hears about Tom Riddle's latest obsession he thinks it might be time to return.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

Mykew Gregorovitch walked the corridors of Nurmengard with a greater speed than his age seemed to allow. He hated being here – always had, since old Gellert's imprisonment. But such weakness would not do at a time like this. Mykew panted heavily as he climbed up the innumerable steps of the eastern tower and then shuffled along as silently as he could the solitary cell on the highest floor. A single, old, emaciated figure lay within, and it struck Mykew how difficult it was to accept that the person before him had once been feared by all of Europe.

'He's back, Gellert! Tom Riddle is back! Back from the dead!' , Gregorovitch whispered.

'It is no concern of mine – it never has been. You know that. You have always known that. Why, then, are you here? Leave me now. Leave an old man to his ruminations.'

Gregorovitch flinched seeing the smile on Grindelwald's face. Gellert, no Grindelwald, might have been starved and emaciated, on the verge of death even, but the blue eye and the grey eye both still held their sparkle. Only a fool would think this man, nay, this monster, nay, this giant, defeated.

'There have been mutterings. Karkaroff has heard from his friends across the channel. Riddle is looking for a wand. A wand to defeat all wands. The Elder Wand, Gellert. Can you imagine the devastation that would result if that wand were to fall in that man's hands?', Gregorovitch spat. 'And what if he were to master all three Hallows? What then? I cannot begin to contemplate an eternity under that man – that insane monster, Gellert.'

'And what of Albus? He has the wand now. He will defeat Tom Riddle. I know you know what happened that night as it is in your nature to know such things – but know this – Albus Dumbledore _is_ a mighty wizard. Always has been. I am tired, Mykew. Tired and bored. Why should an old man expend his time and energy to save a world that locked him away forever? I have done horrific things, _terrible_ but for the greater good – and so has Albus. Yet he walks free and I am imprisoned. He betrayed me, Mykew. He betrayed his lover. I do not hate him. I cannot. But I will not return to save _his_ world', Grindelwald raged.

'Albus is a fool, my lord. You know this as well as I. He looks to this Harry Potter, this teenaged boy with the training of a goldfish to defeat Riddle – and that on the basis of a vaguely worded prophecy. He feels Harry will win by the power of _love_ ', Gregorovitch spat the last word and laughed. 'I do not come here of my own will. Frau Eberhardt of the Bundesministry has sent me. They are willing to provide discrete and limited support. For the defence of the Republik, of course. And are _willing_ to discuss public policy reforms in a rational manner should you succeed. The tale of your remorse and still astute mind has been making rounds in the Ministry these days – thanks to Igor, of course. They are mice grasping at straws, my lord.' Gregorovitch bowed deeply.

'I must contemplate this further, Gregorovitch. I have heard this as well from my other _sources_. But in the meantime, you can tell Frau Eberhardt that whilst this old remorseful man in prison doesn't require the luxuries of life, a change of clothes and a new wand wouldn't be amiss.'

Gregorovitch smiled. The plotting had begun once more. Grindelwald would return – even if he hadn't accepted it yet. 'I thought you might make these demands my lord. Frau Eberhardt has provided a wand and robes. I have already burnt the robes and broken the wand. These are from Igor,' Gregorovitch said handing over a set of robes, 'from his Russian business. And this is from me. Thirteen inches, Oak, and dragon heartstring. Strong and unbending. Carved with the symbol of the Hallows and seven runes of power. One of my greatest creations. As a request for a personal favour, if you will.' Gregorovitch bowed and left without another word. His lordship was already gently caressing the wand. A job well done, even if he said so himself. Frau Eberhardt better be appropriately pleased.

Grindelwald placed the wand and robes on the solitary chair in his cell, and looked out of the solitary window at the moon which had risen by now – the shining full moon, which outshone all the stars yet allowed them to be seen. Grindelwald smiled to himself. He looked over at the wand and robes. There was a time when people would have fallen over themselves to provide their own wands to him. As he sat on the solitary bed, he reminisced the few moments of happiness he had had with Aunt Bathilda, and Albus. It was not the power, or the authority that he missed. The great and all-powerful Dark Lord Grindelwald missed people, missed company and intelligent conversation though he was loath to admit such weakness. Caressing the wand once more, Grindelwald nodded to himself. Perhaps it _was_ time to return.

 **Author's Note:**

This is my first fanfiction, and it may evolve into a multichapter fic. Thanks for reading. Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

'Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,  
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:'

Rudyard Kipling

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat alone in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was proving to be a difficult year for the wizard, and his age was beginning to catch up to him. Minerva had come to him just this morning with word that _that_ _dear lady_ , Dolores Umbridge was believed to be employing methods no longer considered entirely acceptable at Hogwarts in her detentions. Several students had been seen walking the corridors with the back of their hands covered and a look of pain upon their faces after detentions with her. But what to do about it? His relationship with the Ministry, if it could still be called one, was quite delicate at this juncture – and that woman was already securing herself in a position of unassailable power. There was a time when he would have left no stone unturned to protect his students, but now with Tom back…

He looked at one of the strange contraptions placed on his table. It had started whirring and spewing steam every ten minutes for the past hour. If it went on any longer, his office would soon have the ambience of a swamp. Albus smiled but as the underlying cause of the contraption's unusual behaviour came to the fore of his mind, was lost in pensive thought once again. One of the wards over Nurmengard had fallen – a wand had been smuggled into the eastern tower. Gellert. That horror from fifty years ago was coming back to haunt him.

Tom. Harry's dreams. Dolores and the Ministry. The search for the horcruxes. And now Gellert. Dumbledore, widely recognised as the world's most powerful wizard, Champion of the Light, had never felt more overwhelmed in his life.

Perhaps it was time to meet with the Bundesministry and hope that they had no role in these unholy affairs. Though the Order's resources were strained, perhaps some discrete investigation was in order. Going to Nurmengard, or even sending one of his men there, however, was still out of the question. Gellert might say something about what really happened that night. And he could not bring himself to face him. Even after all these years… Albus could not help but wonder how the world might have turned out if one girl, Ariana Dumbledore, his sister, a squib, had never died all those years ago.

* * *

The German Ministry of Magic was located in a large and imposing baroque building off the Emser Strasse in Berlin. One Albus Dumbledore was quite the sight, with the Muggles on the street staring and gaping at him and his polka-dot pants and leather jacket as he made his way into the building. Albus was still complementing his own sense of fashion when the very brusque girl at the desk outside the Minister's office asked him for his name and business.

'Albus Dumbledore to meet Minister Eberhardt, my dear lady', Albus said, his eyes twinkling madly.

'Do you have an appointment?'

'No, but it _is_ a very urgent and sensitive issue that I must discuss with the Minister. Surely she can spare a few moments for an old acquaintance?'

'No appointment! You will have to wait till the Minister is free and I will ask her if she can see you', the secretary said – guiding Albus to one of those mass-produced armless plastic chairs that he had always detested. 'No appointment!', the woman kept muttering to herself, shocked with Albus' behaviour.

And it was thus that when Minister Eberhardt came out for a cup of coffee fifteen minutes later, she saw Albus Dumbledore wearing a leather jacket, hunched over in a plastic chair outside her office.

'Why, Herr Dumbledore, whatever are you doing in that chair?'

'Minister I must see you urgently. The matter is quite _delicate_ and relates to a _mutual acquaintance_ shall we say?'

'Well then, come on in', Paula Eberhardt beckoned to Albus Dumbledore, fighting off the glares she was getting from her very hostile (and possibly belligerent) secretary.

Even as Dumbledore entered the office he began to speak, 'Minister, I have reason to believe that a wand has found its way into the eastern tower at Nurmengard.'

'And this reason is?', Paula Eberhardt questioned hoping that Dumbledore would reveal the extent of his enchantments on the place.

'My own, and very private. Nonetheless, it is most reliable and I request an investigation into the matter.'

'Albus, as a friend of many years, I must ask you to drop this matter. No good will come of pursuing this line any further. You have enough problems on your plate as it is – problems you are struggling to address even as we speak.'

'Paula, I must warn you – if your Ministry is providing any aid to Grindelwald, it must stop immediately – or I will use my not insubstantial influence with the International Council of Wizards to force an investigation. I beg of you – do you not remember the atrocities that man once committed?'

'Better a sane remorseful monster we can negotiate with than an uncontrollable insane one, Albus. As far as an investigation by the ICW is concerned, _Mr_. Dumbledore, I feel obliged to inform you that the German people do not look kindly upon any interference in our internal affairs. I must insist that you cease your enquiries into matters that do not concern you as a private citizen of a foreign nation. And whilst the German Ministry will always strive to abide by the wishes of the international community in general, and its allies in particular – it will always remain constrained by the good of the German people. Albus, mind your own bloody business!'

Albus Dumbledore rose even as the Minister was speaking. He had never been more humiliated in his life. He left the office in a huff before the Minister could say anything, and slammed the door shut – only to receive another disapproving look from the secretary outside.

He would have to ask Kingsley to make enquiries with his colleagues, and maybe even send feelers to the French.

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald rose early on what he hoped would be his last day in Nurmengard. He slowly put on the new robes he had been given, and holstered his wand. It would be of no use to him here – perhaps, he had been overly diligent in designing the prison's wards. Nurmengard did not have any dementors – like that barbaric British place, but it was a far more secure facility than any other in the world. Or perhaps, Grindelwald thought, it was only appropriate that a prison of his own design would be the only one capable of holding him.

He was sitting on the hard bed, waiting for the next missive, which he was sure would come sooner rather than later, when he once again heard footsteps coming up the eastern tower. Twice in two days after no visitors in fifty years! The figure, or rather figures, rapidly came face to face with Grindelwald. Before either man outside could say anything, Grindelwald spoke rapidly, 'Yes, Mr. Schneider. Yes, I wish to leave. And I will swear your Unbreakable Vow, but only after I read it. And at least get an assistant who is a competent Occlumens next time. I may be old – but that is no reason to insult me.'

'Here is the wording for the Vow, Mr. Grindelwald.', Hans Schneider said, handing over the document.

'The correct form of address is My Lord. It is so, because I say so. You would do well to remember that. And yes, the wording is acceptable.'

'My assistant's wand and blood are keyed into the wards. He will bind us.'

The door to Grindelwald's cell was opened and he and Hans Schneider clasped each other's' hands.

'Do you, Gellert Grindelwald, swear that you will do your utmost to ensure the irreversible death of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, also called Lord Voldemort, or the Dark Lord by some persons?'

'I do so swear'

'And do you swear that you will not perform acts of mass murder, genocide, or bring direct harm in any form to person or persons not found guilty by due legal process of violating the laws and regulations of the German government or any government recognised as legitimate by the German government, nor cause such acts to be done by giving orders, direct, indirect, or implied to that effect, nor commend such acts to any other person or persons – for which purpose magical creatures recognised by the German government to possess sentience shall be considered persons?'

'I do so swear' Grindelwald grumbled.

'And do you swear to keep the German government in general, via its duly elected head, the Minister, in particular, informed of your actions and intentions in relation to your attempts, direct or indirect, to bring about the death of the same person you have earlier in this oath sworn to bring about, on regular basis – that is at least once every month, whilst such goal remains unfulfilled?'

'I do so swear'

'Then by the power vested in me, by, and on behalf of the German government, I will release you from custody forthwith.'

The strands of light that came out of the assistant's wand bound the two wrists together and then vanished. Hans Schneider performed a complicated wand motion to lower the wards around the cell block. Grindelwald looked at him, and smiled – a true smile, for the first time in fifty years. Then with a crack, he was gone.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore entered his office at Hogwarts only to be welcomed by a bang. The floor was flooded over and the contraption on his desk lay in pieces. For a moment, he could not bring himself to accept what had happened. He did not know what he could do to once more defeat the man he could not bring himself to face.

The portrait of Headmaster Dippet spoke suddenly, breaking his reverie. 'It's Gellert isn't it, Albus?'

Albus turned to the portrait and nodded slowly – the strain of the imminent engagement with a former lover visible on his face. Fawkes swooped down on his shoulder to try to comfort him.

'After all these years, Albus?'

'Always, Headmaster.'

And at that, mayhem broke out amongst the portraits in Dumbledore's office.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

This is my first fanfiction. Thanks for reading. Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Paul Mustermann put his twin daughters – Erica and Angela to bed and made himself and his wife some coffee before sitting down to enjoy the classical music that usually came in at this time on the Wizarding Radio. Life had always been peaceful for him - as an employee of the Ministry and the nephew of one Mykew Gregorovitch neither side had ever sought to attack him during the war. Even today, he reassured his wife, the recent happenings in England were far removed from them and their quaint life – but if Sofia felt so inclined, he would certainly see to organizing a vacation in South America! After all, as he told his daughters over and over again, family always came first.

Comforted, but not convinced by her husband's words, Sofia went into the kitchen to bring out another pot of coffee and Paul once more lost himself in the music, thoughts of the girls' upcoming birthday and the broomsticks he had bought to surprise them with swimming in his mind. But when Sofia had not returned ten minutes later, he decided to check in on her – perhaps she was still upset by the letters Uncle Mykew had sent (that silly man, not knowing not to heap even more trouble on Sofia's already burdened shoulders).

But when he entered the kitchen, all he saw before him was a snake like face with narrow eyes and no nose. Before he could even begin to comprehend what was going on, Paul and the figure vanished without a sound.

They found a mutilated corpse in the street two days later.

* * *

Harry gingerly dipped the back of his hand into the essence of murtlap. Dumbledore had sent him a message earlier in the day saying he was to have Occlumency lessons - with Snape of all people! Dumbledore still refused to meet his gaze or talk to him and Harry could not help but feel he had disappointed the man in some way. Hermione kept pestering him to report Umbridge to Dumbledore but she could never understand he could never do something like that – he couldn't approach Dumbledore after having disappointed him so, and everyone would simply call him an attention seeker.

'Are you sure you're alright Harry?'

'Yes, Hermione', Harry replied with a small smile. Suddenly everything was alright once more for Hermione Granger. She still couldn't believe a _teacher_ could do something like this to her students, and had not Harry made her promise, she would have gone straight to McGonagall.

Ron nudged Harry in the side. 'It'll take more than that toad to take us down, won't it, mate?' Ron laughed, bringing an even bigger smile to Harry's face.

Harry realised that it wasn't Dumbledore, or McGonagall or even Sirius who would always support him – but himself. He couldn't keep relying on others to fight his battles for him. And in that moment, Harry Potter was no longer a child, but an adult.

'Hermione, I think what you've been saying makes sense. We need to learn how to fight. We need to be able to stand up to Voldemort. And if Umbridge won't help us do it – we'll have to do it ourselves.'

'I knew you'd come around Harry! I'll plan something for a couple of people on Hogsmeade weekend.'

'Honestly, Hermione! How many people do you plan to call?'

'Like I said, a couple', Hermione smiled and rose to leave the common room.

* * *

When Grindelwald returned to his Manor in Vienna, he was pleased to be greeted by four house elves, each bowing till their noses touched the ground. Grindelwald walked up to the eldest, an perhaps most stately and well dressed (as well dressed as one could be wearing tasselled curtains) one amongst them.

'Waldy! Report!'

'Waldy is being most glad to have Master back. Waldy and the other's have been keeping Master's Manor clean for his return. After Master disappeared, Waldy did not know what to do. Those moste evile men from the Ministry came and went through everything in Master's house. They offered to release Waldy and the others – but Waldy is a respectable house elf, and Master is a most kind Master – and Waldy refused. They even tried to enter Master's study, but Waldy remembers he was never allowed to enter there so Waldy and the others kept those evile Auror-men out. But Waldy is old now, and he be thinking, maybe Master not need him any longer. Tanrey and Zankey already dead twenty years ago Master.'

'Don't spout nonsense, Waldy. Tell me about the state of the other houses – the one's in Prague, Dresden and Sofia.'

At this a grave expression appeared on the little elf's face.

'Waldy and the others have carefully looked after Master's houses in Prague and Sofia, Master. But the house in Dresden – Waldy could not do anything, Master! Oh how Waldy tried! Fire from the sky master! Raining fire, all night long! Fire and explosion! Oh, the noise! Waldy kept seeing bright lights and hearing buzzing sounds for hours on end! Oh, when the fire rain killed Tanrey and Zankey! Waldy will gladly accept clothes for his failure, Master! Waldy will gladly pay with his head!', the ancient house elf let out a loud wail of sorrow.

'Stop your weeping immediately an tell me more about this 'fire rain'.'

'Waldy does not know – _sniff-_ what to – _sniff-_ say, Master. The fire fell from the sky and kept falling – _sniff_ \- for the whole night – _sniff-_. Waldy has never _–sniff-_ seen anything like that before. Please Master, Waldy could not do anything. Waldy will accept any punishment', the elf again began to wail.

This was clearly quite pointless. Grindelwald would have to see the damage in his Dresden house for himself. Ordering the house elves to prepare a heavy lunch, he disapparated with a crack.

As he walked through the Muggle repelling and concealment wards (the Fidelius never having been placed on the childhood home he never intended to use) Grindelwald already expected to see a run down building which was damaged, but what he saw made the Dark Lord shiver – there was no house, only a pile of ash long since neglected by the hapless Muggles. The Dark Lord had quickly invaded the mind of an elderly Muggle outside the wards to see what had happened. The visions! For the first time in his very long life, the Dark Lord was scared. There was no sorrow for his childhood home or for the memories that dwelt within, but fear, pure, unadulterated fear for the powers that had caused this.

He would have to meet the younger Karkaroff, this Igor, and hope that the man's intelligence gathering skills were at least as good as his (Igor's) father's had been.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore walked out of the meeting with Michel Delacroix with a smile on his face. The French, thank God, had not been as intractable as the Germans. He had eyes and ears on the Continent once more – and at a small price – a liaison, that nice girl Fleur Delacour, daughter of the head of French Law Enforcement would have to join the Order. Albus knew that the girl had a thing for Bill Weasley – so no trouble at all!

Michel Delacroix also left the meeting a happy man. Fleur Delacour was in the Order, and _he_ was her contact. He quickly jotted down a note for his owl to carry-

'森,

All is well.

十'

and left for lunch.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

This is my first fanfiction. Thanks for reading. Please review.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Igor Karkaroff looked upon the solitary letter lying on his table. It would be only a few moments before its sender presented himself, keeping with his reputation for punctuality. For the first time in years, Karkaroff was satisfied – all his plans were coming to fruition. Grindelwald would protect him from Voldemort. His help in resolving the Voldemort affair would not go unnoticed by the various magical governments, and he would be free to continue as headmaster of Durmstrang for as long as he wanted.

A green flash in the fireplace, and Gellert Grindelwald stood in headmaster's office in Durmstrang for the first time since his expulsion.

'Good morning, Igor', the old man smiled a smile to kill for at the headmaster.

'Good morning, my lord', Karkaroff bowed deeply (at least there was no kissing feet with this Dark Lord).

Taking a seat at the desk, Grindelwald pulled out an envelope.

'You will need this to access my villa in Prague. I have recently had it placed under the Fidelius. You will be using it as a base of operations to organise a resistance against Muggle-friendly governments across Europe. I trust you to build a trustworthy network across countries, with a special emphasis on recruiting from within the governments themselves.'

'Of course, my lord', the gears began rapidly turning in Karkaroff's head – was Grindelwald planning a return to his earlier ways? Had he committed a gross error in thinking the Dark lord's ways had changed? If the Dark Lord planned to open a front against the governments of Europe as well all his plans might go down the drain. He must convince the Dark Lord to not pursue this course of action. 'But my lord, is it wise to enter into conflict with the authorities at this stage with the Riddle problem still brewing in England?', he asked, feeling grateful that this Dark Lord wasn't liberal with the Cruciatus either.

'I have no wish to fight a war against the European Ministries. In any case, as it so happens, I am bound by an Unbreakable Vow. And that is why you will be informing the relevant authorities, in the strictest confidence, of course, that you are starting such a resistance. You may feel free to use this fact to convince the muggle-lovers to join, or hide it to convince the hardliners. And let it be known that I find the marking of my followers extremely distasteful. Unbreakable Vows of loyalty to my person will work just fine. You may find the appropriate wording in this', Grindelwald said, handing over another letter.

Karkaroff began reading the Vow as Grindelwald spoke again. 'I will be requiring a similar vow from you before this meeting is up. The entire organisation should be constructed in a compartmental manner, with each individual member knowing of only his membership, and that of his immediate superior and inferiors. Only you and I will know the identities of all members. Of course, you may reveal relevant information on a mission basis.'

'If I may ask, my lord, why spend resources on building a resistance to the European Ministries if you don't intend to fight them? Why not start recruiting followers in Britain?'

'You will be recruiting in Britain as well. What better way to combat Tom than break his organisation by providing a moderate alternative to those uncomfortable with either side?', Grindelwald smiled once more. He had neglected to inform the other man that this also gave him the perfect excuse to build his own organisation, an organisation that might one day be invaluable to seizing power in a peaceful manner, or in finding out about goings-on across the continent, or do anything else he pleased should the Vow no longer be an issue. Governments would encourage their employees to join when they learned he had support from the German authorities and did not plan any insurgent activities. The Vow he had given Karkaroff would allow him to turn them over time. Of course, the authorities would see through this, but ignore it because of the faith they had in the Vow Grindelwald had sworn, and because he would do nothing reactionary for a few years. It was the perfect plan. He would leave Karkaroff to work out the logistics. It would serve as a test of some sorts. If he passed, Grindelwald's trust in him was not misplaced. If he failed, well, Karkaroff had been found guilty of treason by the British courts (hastily convened though they may be) and Grindelwald had the perfect opening to _replace_ him.

'Of course, my lord'

'And yes, Karkaroff, have someone look into the Muggle governments as well – especially their weaponry. There will be no need to recruit any _Muggles_ – a mild compulsion should work wonders.'

'Of course, my lord'

Without wasting a moment, Grindelwald rose and had Karkaroff swear the Vow he wanted. He walked to the fireplace and flooed to his house in Prague before flooing to Gringotts in London. No need for Karkaroff to know where he was going, or even the existence of his other houses. War was coming, faster than Grindelwald would have liked too – and there was only one thing to be done – securing the gold before anyone else. An army marched on its stomach, and the Dark Lord Grindelwald would consider it his greatest achievement if he managed to starve his foes before they even reached the fight. No messy fighting, no bloodshed, no violence. A simple, elegant solution to a delicate problem.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore read the next name on his list – Mr. Gitonga Mwangi, the honourable representative of the Sangomas of East Africa. The active lobbying amongst ICW representatives was proving to be extremely draining – both on his energy, and his vault. But there was nothing to be done. With Gellert most likely out of prison, the Germans being non-cooperative, and the situation with the British government, he had no other choice. Shacklebolt had been detained by the Germans, just that morning, for trying to break into Nurmengard. There was no arrest or charge, of course – he had simply been detained indefinitely for matters of national security.

The current course of action was thankfully proving helpful. With Mr. Mwangi's support, he would have a majority in the ICW's war crimes tribunal to force the Germans to produce Grindelwald for questioning. Well aware of the stories surrounding the thoroughly distasteful man he was about to meet, Dumbledore began counting Galleons and moving them from the expandable chest in his office to the mokeskin pouch at his waist, when he was disturbed by a Patronus message from Minerva McGonagall.

'Albus, you must come down at once! That women is sacking Sybil!'

Dumbledore dropped the pouch and ran to the fireplace, losing all sense of composure out of fear that Tom would get his hands on the Seer. Flooing to the Entrance Hall, he waited a few moments to compose himself – he must be calm and confident to project authority.

He could hear the wails from the courtyard outside.

"No! NO! This cannot be happening... it cannot... I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realise this was coming? Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?"

"You c - can't! You c - can't sack me! I've b - been here sixteen years! H - Hogwarts is - my h - home!"

"It was your home, until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us."

Albus chose this moment to walk out into the open.

'Minerva, please escort Sybill back to the North Tower.'

McGonagall held the sobbing woman's hand and levitated her luggage – escorting her back into the castle.

'I'm afraid, Headmaster, you do not understand. I am High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, and I have in my hand an order, countersigned by the Minister himself, to dismiss that woman.'

'My dear lady, you may have the authority to dismiss my teachers, but you cannot banish them from the grounds. That power remains with the headmaster alone.'

'For now'

Dolores Umbridge smiled, turned, and left.

Dumbledore looked at the assembled students and reprimanded them, careful to avoid Harry's eyes before Snape had had some measure of success. 'Go back to your classes!' Then he too turned and left. He would be late for the meeting with Mr. Mwangi. Perhaps another bag would be needed. Albus sighed.

* * *

Mykew Gregorovitch got off his train as the Sun was setting over the holy Ganges at Varanasi. This hiding from Riddle had given him the perfect opportunity travel to distant parts of the world (and on the government's money, too). Gregorovitch wiped the sweat off his brow, only to have it reappear a few moments later. Now to find those famed mystics in the hidden annexes of the Vishwanath temple. Gregorovitch was as giddy as a ten year old getting a piece of candy. The knowledge he would gain in the eastern traditions would be priceless back in Europe. It almost made it worth surviving the heat. Almost.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

This is my first fanfiction. Thanks for reading. Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

As the Sun rose to the east over the holy Ganges, bells began to toll in the holy city of Varanasi. Pilgrims and devotees in simple white garb slowly made their way through the city's ancient streets to their favourite holy place. So it had been for a thousand years, even when the city had had different rulers, or had been known differently. And so it would be for a thousand years more. The trained eye, however, could spot the evidence of discord in this sea of seeming peace – the ruins of a medieval temple, the foundations of an incomplete mosque. People strived, and faith survived.

Mykew Gregorovitch too made his way to the massive Vishwanath temple, with its golden domes that shone in the rays of the rising Sun. An old man from a faraway country, he was very out-of-place here. Arriving at the temple, he quickly cast a notice-me-not charm on himself to avoid the large queues that were already forming outside the temple. Even in this holy place, in this holy city, early in the morning, India struggled. Gregorovitch gingerely made his way into the main temple, trying to avoid stepping on too many toes.

Even from afar, Gregorovitch could feel the powerful magic emanating from rear wall of the holy of holies that held the beautiful black stone that symbolised Shiva – the lingam which was older than time itself. He instinctively knew, from the magic in the air (which he had long ago learnt to feel in order to look for wand cores), that he would not be able to gain admission into the sanctum sanctorum without dying a most gruesome death. Instead, he made his way behind the wall, and with a great sense of fear and foreboding tapped his wand on the Sanskrit 'Om' that was inscribed on it. The magic in the air shifted slowly but suddenly, and Gregorovitch felt the adrenaline rush through his veins. A few moments later, however, the magic settled down once more, and nothing happened. Gregorovitch tapped on the wall again and again, but to no avail. Where now could he go? What now should he do? There was no Ministry of Magic in India – there never had been – each city, each province had its own traditions, its own secrets – but where to find them? The trip had been a waste. Deciding to go onwards to Tibet, and then China proper – he turned around to leave – only to find a well-built old man, with ash on his forehead and dressed in priest's attire standing before him. His brown eyes seemed to bore into Gregorovitch's own – and once again he was reminded of Grindelwald's gaze. Gregorovitch felt like a little child before this man, and his well-tuned instincts told him that the person before him was not to be trifled with.

'Do not leave before you attain what you seek, my son. The holiest of scriptures recognise the nature of this place to grant that which is sought here. But to receive, you must seek with all your heart. Did your Christ not say – ask and it shall be given unto you, seek and you shall find?', the man spoke in impeccable English - 'We have no use of sticks here. Believe in yourself, have faith in the universe and open your mind and soul to the temple as you seek – and the temple will answer.'

Gregorovitch could not bring himself to say anything to this man. He simply nodded and turning to the wall once more, placed his right palm upon it. Closing his eyes, he felt the golden strands of magic enter his mind, and as he wished ever so hard to enter the annexes, they began to weave a picture in his mind. Gregorovitch felt a foreign presence in his mind, a presence more powerful and ancient than he had ever encountered before. But it would not attack his mind. Gregorovitch willingly lowered his mental shields, letting the presence in. The visions of the temple became more and more vivid as time progressed. It felt like an eternity had passed before Gregorovitch felt himself slowly falling through the wall. He dare not open his eyes or let go of the beautiful strands of magic. So he fell, and kept falling, without knowing anything, falling faster and faster, till there was only darkness, and sleep enveloped him.

Gregorovitch found himself lying on a simple slab of granite. A cool breeze was blowing over him. He slowly opened his eyes to see the same man as before standing beside him. He slowly sat up, cursing his old bones for the aches they produced.

'Who are you?', Gregorovitch spoke.

'I am known in these parts as Mahadev Shastri. I am the chief priest at this temple. I no longer care to remember the name I was born with – but that is beside the point. The living essence of the temple has been inside your mind and granted you entrance to these hallowed halls', the priest began to pace, 'and it has spoken to me. I am aware that you have come a long way from Europe, fleeing a madman, but with a strong desire to learn. Knowing that the knowledge you seek may change you in ways no man can fathom, that it will change the way you look at life itself, I must ask you – do you come to us willingly, and do you still wish to proceed down this path?'

'I do, for I have spent many years in this world striving to understand the mystery that is magic – and I have seen farther than most, yet I remain perplexed.'

'The order does not part with its secrets lightly, and yet your need is great. There are some among us, blessed with the ability to see far, in space and in time. You will play an instrumental part in the war to come, and we will help you with our knowledge – but this offer is not made lightly. In return for our services, you will perform certain tasks for us. Are you still willing?'

'I am. I always have. I am willing to swear an Unbreakable Vow to return the favour if you so desire', said Gregorovitch, his mind unwavering.

'There will be no need for such things here. In any case, I must first inform you of what we seek before parting with our secrets. We are of the Charvak, the ancient atheist school of Hinduism that disappeared from the Muggle world in the 12th century. It was the time of the coming of Islamic invaders from the North-West, and remembering how we had suffered in previous foreign invasions like those of Alexander, finding no support from Muggle rulers, we withdrew from society at large, voluntarily imposing upon ourselves a 'statute of secrecy' if you will. Over time, most magical communities also did the same, of their own accord, and as such, we remain independent self-governing institutions. When Alexander invaded India, (and by no stretch of imagination do we consider him 'great'), he carted off, as spoils, two of our most sacred treasures to Babylon. From there, they made their way into Greece, and then Rome after Mithradates. From there, slowly to Britain, through France, in the hands of travelling wizards after the sack of Rome. You have seen these treasures – the Mirror, and the Veil. There was a time when they proudly stood together in our school in Taxila to the West, as objects of deep and profound meditation. We have always believed in the power of the enlightened soul to perform magic without wands, motions or incantations. Meditation is the path to enlightenment. And only he who is enlightened may sit before the Mirror and see nothing in it, not even himself, and sit before the Veil and hear nobody call from it, though he may have lost many a loved one, nor feel attracted to either and leave when he pleases. Such a man, while satisfied, does not lack ambition, for complacency means death. He has no unnecessary attachment to either the world of the living, or the dead, and being satisfied no matter where he is, is the Master of Death, for he is already in Heaven. You will bring these objects back to us.'

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stood at the foot of the table in his own Manor, looking upon the Dark Lord Voldemort who sat in what had once been his father's chair.

'Lucius, things are not as I wish them to be. I find myself without the original prophecy, a prophecy that only Harry Potter can retrieve for me from the Ministry, no thanks to your incompetence in trying to move along the bureaucratic machine. Your job has always been to handle the Ministry – and I find you failing again and again. _Crucio_ ', Voldemort held the curse for longer than usual, and the proud Lucius Malfoy found himself reduced to a stuttering mess. However, there was no cry from his lips, no scream, no groan, not even a sigh after the curse was lifted. Not many men could claim to infuriate Voldemort so, and live to tell the tale. Enraged by Lucius' strength, Voldemort cast the curse once more holding it, till Lucius feel to the ground. His nerves were on fire, and it felt as if someone had electrocuted every inch of his being over and over again. But that did not matter to Lucius as much as the feeling of being violated in this place, his own dining room, before his friends of old, and under the portraits of his ancestors.

'Meanwhile, I also remain unable to find the wandmaker Gregorovitch, who can provide me with the wand Ollivander so graciously mentioned. I will not remain constrained in defeating my enemy regardless of what the prophecy says. Harry Potter is Dumbledore's man through and through – like his filthy parents. And Karkaroff, who has defied me for too long from behind the walls of Durmstrang. I have heard that he is behind Gregorovitch's escape from his own nephew. You will find me Igor, Lucius, that vengeance shall be mine, and you will find me this Gregorovitch, or you will never suffer under my Cruciatus ever again. Bella, show Lucius out, and have a kind word with young Draco, who is clearly listening at the door. And Peter, while Gregorovitch provides a new wand, I will need another one should I come across the Potter boy – and as you are more squib than wizard anyways…'

Voldemort grasped Pettigrew's wand and used it to shoot a Cruciatus at the wizard, cackling with laughter. The Potter boy would die at his hand, he was sure of it, unless, of course, he lost his mind with the vision Voldemort was planning to send him that night.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Please review. Any suggestions on improving my style are most welcome.


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